


The Constant Move

by Firecracker_Newsie (Enjolras_The_Survivor)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Tuck Everlasting - Miller/Tysen/Shear & Federle
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/pseuds/Firecracker_Newsie
Comments: 74
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [averyleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/averyleigh/gifts).



Every decade or so, I have to move. Ha _d_ to move. The magic's run out and left us back where we were, before we became immortal. Do you know how I found out? Because I got sick, but I did _n't_ get better all the way. My leg ain't right, and I'm stuck in an alleyway, at the bottom of the world. Everyone wants to come to New York. An apple rolls itself down the alley, as it does every day. I know there must be a person attached, and that person knows that there's someone here.

*POV Jack*

There's always a person in the alley I walks past on the way to the distribution centre. I roll an apple to them every day, and sure, that apple ain't always paid for, but my father taught me not to starve and my mother taught me not to let anyone else starve. An apple ain't much, but it's something at least. I'm going to try to get some extra bread from the nuns today. I ain't telling them why I wants more bread though.

*POV Jesse*

I decide to trust a tiny bit, putting my hand out at the time the apple usually rolls down my alleyway. Apple-human's hand puts the apple in my hand, adding "If youse needs help, or a place ta stay, I'se might be able to do somethin' about that." Well, you must be okay, because you've never asked for nothin' in return. It would be nice to have a place to stay that ain't this alleyway. I hear a hoarse voice - mine - say "Place to stay'd be nice." Then apple-human steps into the alleyway, revealing themself. They're apparently male, but I've met many different people over my many years. "I'm Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly, who are you? I understand if ya don't want to talk, or if you don't got a name. Hey, what's up with that leg o'yours? Youse able ta walk on it?"

"I do got a name, but I ain't telling nobody. I got sick and my leg just became like this, and not much, Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly."

"Youse put your arm round my neck and I'll support ya. We'll get ta the Lodge House, an' I'll see if Kloppmann can get youse a doctor ta look at that leg."

*POV Jack, Lodge House*

The doc's here but he looks really serious. Is alley-kid gonna be alright? "Jack, the child had been sick with polio, I'm sorry to say his leg won't be the same ever again. I've given him a crutch and he's currently practicing using it in the other bunkroom."

"Thank you, doctor." That sucks. I gotta make a newsie of him now, he's got extra newsie selling points:

  * Looks young
  * Charming little half-smile
  * His crutch and limp - they's gonna sell at least fifty papes a week all by theirselves!



Newsie selling power: lots, I can't count that high! I's can count up to a hunnerd, unlike Morris, who can't go to twenty with his shoes on!


	2. Chapter 2

I'm a newsie now, I sells papes with Jack keeping an eye out for the mutts that like to hook my track! That means the trespassers who like to steal my spot. We's got our own language, us newsies. I sells my papes using my crutch and some semistandard spiel about 'poor orphan kid'. Combine it with my naturally-charming face, and Jack says I'm a nat'ral. My leg plays up some, and for sure, in the winter, it almost freezes. Ain't it a fine life! Jack is apple-human's name by the way.

*POV Jack*

I call the alley kid Crutchie, he don't seem to mind it. Specs has taken a shinin' to him, always putting his little hand in Crutchie's. There's a certain somethin' that makes him a favourite of the littles. I think Specs is five, younger than I was, and a lot quieter! Crutchie seems to be holding back his personality, he's certainly got secrets. Oh yeah, I should tell youse how old we is! There's a lot of us, but I's the best.

Me: 15, Manhattan Second, which just means I's in training to be the leader.

Meatball: Manhattan Leader, 17. He's alright, but he won't age out fast enough!

Specs: 5 but we ain't too sure. He's sweet, but he has to come out with one of us, so yeah, not sure how to feel about him.

Crutchie: we think he's 15, but he don't talk much about anything. Hardworking and sells loadsa papes, so he's a good'un.

Finch: 7, mostly hangs around Meatball. Hero worships him, in a way.

There's more of us than that, but they's the ones that truly matter. The others don't live in Lodging, they's got a mudder or a father to go home to!


	3. Specs

"Dack! My specs hurt!"

"Are you growing? That can make them hurt. I'll get the eye-doc out tomorrow. You can take them off if you want. Unnerstand?"

"Specs can come off?"

"Yes. I'll look after them."

"Dack, eveythin' blurred now."

"That's because your eyes need a bit of help. I'll carry you if you want."

"Okay! Dack, why my eyes need help?"

"They need help because you can't see properly without your specs."

"Why, Dack?"

"I'm not sure, Specs."

"Why not, Dack? You know everything!"

"I don't know everything. Hi Crutchie."

"Specs, you want to sit on my lap? I can read you the papes. Hiya Jack, he in his why-mood?"

"Yup. How're you getting on with the crutch?"

"Better. Figured out the stair-ow, Specs!"

"Crutchie read papes to me."

"Okay, buddy. See ya later Jack."

"See you Crutch."


	4. Finch

"Meatball, can I sell on my own?"

"Not yet, Finch. Youse still a kid."

"I'm SEVEN! Jack only just came a newsie at 7. I came a newsie earlier!" Jack had better skills than you, and more awareness of how to keep himself safe. "Buddy, have we had the Refuge talk yet?"

"Nasty, don't go there. Watch out for bulls."

"Yeah. You know who the bulls are?"

"Uh, Delancey?"

"No. The Delanceys are not bulls. The bulls are police."

"Okay. Why not sell by myself?"

"The bulls would put you in the Refuge in the blink of an eye." Finch blinks.

"That's well fast!"

"Very fast, yes. Where's Jack?"

"He went out to roof."

"Phew. CRUTCHIE!"

"Hiya! No need to shout, Meatie, I's only in the other room. Is my leg meant to bounce like that?"

"That's one of the side effects of the polio, yes."

"Meatball, is he sick? Will I catch it?"

"No, Crutch was sick. He's not anymore. You won't catch polio from him, don't worry."

"Bless ya, Finch. I ain't sick no more. Ya don't gotta be afraid of me."

"Not _you_. Your leg."

"Would it help if I showed you my leg and you could poke it and feel how it ain't that different from yours?" Finch nods warily. Crutchie rolls up his trouser leg, sitting on a low stool that I think Kloppmann's sister's husband donated several years ago. His leg is small and twisted from the knee, foot dangling loosely at the bottom. The lower half of his leg seems to be blurred like when I playfully nick Specs' specs and look through them. Finch gently pokes at Crutchie's leg, seemingly relaxing. "Your leg is funny. Do it hurt?"

"No, not really." I make a mental note to check on Crutchie later, there's a cold snap coming, and he's going to have a few harder days then. Finch flings himself onto Crutchie. "Friends now."


	5. Meanwhile, baby/young Elmer

"Elmer, I've got to pull you out of school to balance our finances. I don't want to, but since your father passed, everything's gotten harder. I want you to get a job, and a good, honest job too."

"Ok, Mom!"

"You're a good kid."

***

"Hi. Um, I need a job. Do you know where I could get one?"

"Youse a bit small for the docks, how 'bout ya try selling papes wit' us?"

"Is that good honest work? Mom said I needed to get a job, and a good, honest job too."

"It's certainly a good job."

"Is it honest work?"

"It's legal, if that's what ya means!"

"Alright then. I'm Elmer. Who are you?"

"He's Meatie, and I's Specs!"

"I'm Meatball, and that's Specs, as he already said. He's not wearing his specs right now, because they hurt him."

"How old do you gotta be to be a papes-seller?"

"Don't matter much. Specs is-"

"FIVE! I'S FIVE!"

"Yeah, you are, then Jack's fifteen, and I'm practic'lly an adult, 17. There's others too, but youse gonna learn so much I don't wanna overwhelm you."

"That's a long word!"

"I got a bit of schooling." Meatball shrugs. "You?"

"I went to school but didn't learn much. They called me slow."

"School ain't everyone's cuppa tea. Talkin' of, Specs, we'se done selling, last one's gone, Elmer, you comin' back to Lodging for a cuppa?"

"My mom'll be waiting."

"Alright. You tell her that you start work tomorrow, get youse to the World's gate by 6am. Alright?"

"Yeah. See you."


	6. Meatball and Jack

"Jack, it's time."

"You're leaving? Wit'out sayin' goodbye ta the others? Meatball, Specs won't stand that!"

"No, giving you a heads up. Pick your second wisely. Tony might be good."

"I was thinking Crutchie."

"You think on it, and how often you been in Refuge."

"Don' remind me. I'll make good choices, don't worry."

"Alright. I'm handing the reins over once everyone's awake."

"You got a roof over ya head, somewhere to stay at least? Money in your pocket, or food in your mouth?"

"I got a job as a docker, it's honest work. Me and my girl, we's got a little apartment in a tenement. We're good, Jack. You look after yourself."

"Duh! What time is it anyway?"

"4, the others will be up soon."

"They better be, else they ain't getting to the gate on time. Oh! Crutch? Why are you awake so soon?"

"Me leg kicked me other one and the bad one's crampin' now."

"Try massaging it, get the blood flowing? I could try doing that, if you want?"

"You come an' help then. What were you and Meatie talking about?"

"Who I'll be picking as my second when Meatball leaves. He's getting a bit old for this selling malarkey."

"Tony would be good. He can go to Brooklyn without you and not get soaked."

"Yeah, that would be a good idea."

*5am, Newsies waking up*

"Newsies Of Manhattan!"

"AYE AYE MEATIE!" Specs yells. Finch giggles, Crutchie leans on his crutch heavily, telling me today will be cold, since he only does that when his leg is stiff. Me, I'm right beside Meatball, waiting for him to hurry the heck up and make me a grown-up by giving me the reins. "Today is the day I have to leave. I'll come an' visit youse, but Jack's your leader now. I'm going to be a docker."

"MEND PEOPLE? MEND CRUTCHIE LEG?"

"Not a doc _tor_ , a docker. I'm going to work on ships."

"ME DO THAT TOO!"

"Specs, buddy, not yet." I have to look after Specs now, and Finch, and Crutch, but he can look after himself. He looks tired. "Crutch, you alright? It's a bit nippy out there, eh?"

"Yeah, it's hecka nippy, and I's fine, Jack. Jus' take 20 papes today. Don't wanna slip on the ice and bust me other leg."

"Alright." I'll take an extra buncha papes just so youse can afford the half board - bed and dinner. "We's best get going. Specs, you wanna piggyback?"

"No. I go with Meatie docker!"

"You can't, bud. It's not safe there, not for you."

"Meatie go bye bye ever?"

"No, bud, he's coming back."

"Every Sunday, bud. Till Jack's settled."

"Every Sunday? No missing one?"

"I won't miss one ever. Bye for now, I have to get down the docks." Meatball leaves. Right. I'm in charge now.

"Finch, can you help Specs get his shoes on? Elmer and Tony will meet us at the gate. Crutchie, you get going, we'll be there in a minute."

"A'ight."


	7. Meatball

I was a newsie for a long time, but now I have to move on. Walking to the docks is hard, I want to turn back and put Specs' shoes on his feet properly, and check in with Crutchie on if he has to stay behind and needs someone to cover for him. I want to hold Finch's hand as we cross a road. I want to check that Jack isn't picking Crutchie as his second, because Tony has this magic that allows him to sell in Sheepshead, in Brooklyn, so there's potential for an alliance. There's so many more things I want to do, but being an adult means I have to satisfy myself with a visit every Sunday. I don't care for church but Specs likes the candles, so I took him a few times. Will Jack know what Specs means by "God lights"? Come on Meatball, Jack'll be fine. You've been training him up since he were seven. Get on with your job.

*

"Hey, Tony. How would you like ta be the Second?"

"Meatball's gone. Knew it'd happen soon. Didja really mean it? 'Bout being the second?"

"Yeah. I meant it."

"Yeah, lots. I like it lots. Also, Ma's not gonna make it to the end of the week. I'm moving into lodging."

"Okay." I wrap my arms around Tony. Losing a parent is hard, harder when you're small and working class. "You come to me with any problem you got."

"I 'ready do."

"TONY HI! MEATIE BYE! THASSA POEM!"

"Hiya Specs. Didja get new glasses?"

"Uh, Dack? New glasses, yesno?"

"Yes, Specs, you got new glasses. You want to put them on?"

"YES! I'M SHOWING TONY!"

"They're smart! You wear them all day, and I'll bring a little treat, okay?"

"YEAH! When treat?"

"Tomorrow."


	8. Jack's first day as leader

Tony's Ma is dying. He'll move into Lodging. We don't have enough blankets yet. The nuns will give us some at Christmas. It's the 15th. 10 days to go. See, I can count better than Morris! Specs is tugging at my shirt. "Dack! Dack! What you doing? Your face is all weird."

"I'm thinking bud. 'Bout the headline."

"Why, Dack? Headline is boring."

"Exactly. A boring headline doesn't sell papes, _newsies_ sell papes. Therefore, the newsies have to improve the headline so the papes sell."

"Boring! Dack, can I play?"

"What do you want to play?"

"Hidey game. You look for me."

"Hide'n'seek? Not right now, Specs. We've got to do work, and if you hide today, I might not be able to find you and then your treat will have to be all mine!"

"Not YOU treat. ME TREAT!"

"If you stay by me, and keep your specs on. That's what Tony said."

"Dack, why you talk long?"

"I don't know. Maybe you talk short?"

"No. You talk LONG. Is BORING!"

*

"It's happened, Jack." I say nothing, just wrap my arms around Tony and feel my shoulder slowly getting silently damp. He pulls away too soon. "I got nobody blood-related no more. I brought my things." His things are well-mended and I can see that I'll have to hold a darning lesson for the older newsies soon, so's not to make anyone feel singled out. Meatball taught me that being a newsie is more than jus' selling papes: it's making sure your boys are fed, and theys got a roof over their head each night. It's knowing how to mend clothes, patch them, let them out, tuck them up, making sure your boys have a respectable look (within your means). It's saving as much money as you can afford to, to be able to get a doctor if you get a sick boy. "You can take whatever bunk doesn't have a sleeper in it. I'm just about to go to bed."

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight? I don' want to be left 'lone."

"Sure, buddy. Hop in."


	9. Snow

"Dack? When am I six?"

"You've only just turned five. October. That's two months before Christmas."

"I's birthday soon?"

"Not for a while, Specs. Go back to sleep now."

"Ok. Tony treat tomorrow?" How the heck do you deal with this? Meatball would know. Tony said he would, but with his Ma passin' on, I doubt Specs is the first thing on his mind. "Tony's going through a rough patch at the minute. He might not be able to do your treat tomorrow."

"You talk long 'gain. Talk short, like me."

"Tony's sad. He might not get your treat tomorrow."

"That's long talk. Why Tony sad?" Oh Specs, it really isn't my place to say.

"Because he is. I can't say until he tells me I can."

"Mo'n'n. Specs, Jack."

"Tony here? Tony has home."

"Not anymore, I don't."

"Why not? Home burn like mine?"

"No, stop asking please."

"Go see God lights, Dack?"

"Hm? God lights, you mean Church?"

"Uh, Meatie takes me. Now you do."

"Meatie took you, and now I'm going to take you. Tony, we'll be back soon, can you hold the fort? Get the littles, 'cept Specs, in bed for eight. I'll put Specs to bed when we get back."

"Alright. Jack, you mind if I kip in your bed again?"

"Nah. S'warmer that way."

*

"Dack, look at the lights!"

"The candles are really pretty, aren't they? Hello, Sister!"

"When are we going to see you inside the Church, Jack? Is that your little brother?"

"Not BROTHER! Best FRIEND!"

"This is Specs, he's"

"FIVE, SIX NEARLY!"

"Not till October bud. Specs, do you want to go to Church?"

"YEAH!"

"We can't really read all that well, but if Specs wants to go, I'll take him."

"Do you have a home to go to? We run an orphanage here, we've got a couple of boys around Specs' age."

"Yeah, we's got a home."

*

"Dack, Sister talks long too. You her friends now."

"Jack's asleep, Specs. Like you should be."

"Why you up Tony?"

"Mom died, she's in the ground now."

"She is lonely there?"

"No, there are other people in the ground with her."

"I don't want ground."

"Come down from there, Specs!"

"Ground no thank you!"


	10. Christmas (Pt 1)

"Dack! Minnight god lights?"

"I'll take you to midnight mass if you go to sleep now." I'll stay up and take you there, Specs, but I'll fall asleep in the service probably. Ain't it a fine life! "Okay, Dack! I sleeping now!" Specs pulls the threadbare blanket over his head, and soon drifts off. I hear a familiar step-click, step-click announcing Crutchie's arrival. "Hey Jack, what happens for Christmas here? I used ta celebrate with my fam'ly, 'fore they, y'know"

"Yeah, I know. Well, we don't all celebrate, but the nuns give us some blankets and Kloppmann, he gives us a small turkey ta share. Some of us choose to go to Mass, like Specs, because he likes watching the candles. Meatie used ta take him, but it's my job this year! Um, we don't really have any traditions, or anythin', but if ya wanted ta add somethin', we could prob'ly work it out."

"Um, I, I'd like, er, a little tree?"

"I'll see what I can do." I've got paper and pencil somewhere, if I can get to Medda's, I might be able to get _canvas_. I can't just go out and chop a tree down because it's dark, and I don't know how to chop a tree down, and also I know Spider will be prowling. Crutchie settles down beside me. "Jack, do you celebrate Christmas?" I'm not sure how to answer this. I sort of used to celebrate Christmas, but not how Crutchie used to. "Not really, it's a hard time of year for me. As for a fair few of the guys that sell. Best not to assume nothin', a'ight? You get some sleep, and I'll be back in the morning."

"Ok. Night, Jack."

"Night, Crutchie."

*

"Specs? Time to wake up."

"Is minnight now? Blurry world."

"Not quite, it's half past eleven, so we've got time. Here's your glasses, I'll carry ya."

"Mhm. I shee now." Specs sucks his thumb contentedly.

*

"Ah, Jack, Specs, nice to see you. Jack, will you be taking Communion?"

Free food? Why would I say no? "Yeah, sure." I don't believe in any God really, but if there's food involved, I'll pretend to be whatever. In the meantime, let's get settled. I put Specs on my lap, tell him "tap me when they break the bread.", lean back against the hard pew (closest to the back, furthest from the priest) and tilt my head to my shoulder in an attempt to catch forty winks.

*

"DACK! Bread!"

"Mm, shh, Specs."

"But Dack, you said "tap me when bread." Is bread now."

"Okay, I'm coming, I'm coming."


	11. Christmas (Pt 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Christmas Day, I am unlikely to be on tomorrow to publish this, so preeemptively publishing it.

"Mornin', Sisters!"

"Merry Christmas to you too, Jack. It was good to see you at the service last night."

"Memoo!" Specs sleepily protests from his perch on my hip. He's getting heavy, nearly too heavy to be carried.

"He means he was there too. He seems to pick up speech slower than most people, but he can hear perfectly fine."

"We've got blankets for you and your kin. Here you go, God bless and keep you."

"Same ta you, Sister! Thanks, by the way."

*

"DACK! BLUE! LOOK! MINE?"

"Yeah, sure bud." I make a mental note to put the blue knitted blanket on our bed. Crutchie runs a patchwork quilt through his fingers, feeling the softness, and I make another mental note. I'll put the pale green crocheted one on Finch's bed, I think he'll like that. Finch has started to trust Crutchie more, even holding his hand to cross the roads. Sometimes they sell together. Oh, yeah! Crutchie has his own selling spot now, and has done for a little while. Anyway, Kloppmann's here, with the turkey.

*

"Ah, that was nice, thank you Kloppmann."

"You're welcome Jack. Boys, if you go upstairs, you'll find a little surprise on your beds."

*

"BLUE MINE LOOK DACK! BLUE BLANKET!"

"Yeah, Specs, the blue blanket's yours."

"Jack? Did you mean to put the green one on my bed? I love it!" Finch wraps his arms around me and smooshes his face into my stomach.

"Yeah, the green one's for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specs has an expressive language delay. This would not have been understood in 1897, when this is set.


	12. Flu

"Jack, I don't feel so good." You're feverish, and pale. I'm no doctor, but I'm going to guess that you're under the weather. "I'm sick, ain't I?" Well, yes, Finch, clearly. "Yeah, youse staying home today. Crutchie, can ya look after Finch?" It's really icy out there, and if you say yes, that's one less newsie to worry about falling. "Sure, looks like he's got flu. He was shivering in the night, and his body aches." Great, only one of the deadly diseases to be concerned about. Can we afford to tell Kloppmann? He'll probably try to make us stay in until we've all had it. 6, 7, 8 cents saved. Only enough for 1 meal. We could get breakfast here, but when the nuns hand it out for free? Well, why should we spend our meagre earnings if we don't gotta?

*

Kids are coming down left, right, and center with the blasted flu. Only Specs and I are as yet untouched in the Lodge. There's three kids who go home who ain't had it or got it yet. I'm worried about Itey, he ain't been so good. Elmer's had it and got over it, thankfully, although his mother didn't make it, so now he's at Lodge too. Finch is at the sitting-up-with-help stage of getting better. Miss Medda isn't letting us in her theater, and Jacobi ain't giving us water no more neither. I want this blasted thing to end.

*

Great, now Specs is sniffling too, and I can feel that I've got it too. Finch is getting stronger every day, although his ears are still red and sore. I had to stop selling, so Crutchie's had to go out on the ice with Finch beside him, tryna sell a hundred papes between 'em. I hate this cough and the constant runny nose, and the sweating and everything about the flu. Meatball popped round the other day, he didn't stay as he ain't yet had the flu. Says he don't miss the sharing our illnesses part of bein' a newsie.

*

Finch can't hear out of his left ear no more, but he's fine on the right hand side. Specs is doing alright now, his fever's settled and he's sleeping a lot, so fingers crossed he'll make it through to tomorrow. I'm slowly getting stronger, I'm a bit wobbly still but it's easier every day. Itey, it's a waiting game. Tony hasn't had it yet, but with how often I find him in my bed, he's going to get it soon.


	13. Chapter 13

"Dack? Where's Itey? Ain't seen 'im."

"Itey's dead, Specs."

"Like Tony's mom? And my mom?"

"Yeah, like you and Tony's moms."

"When's he comin' back?"

"He's not."

"He's away? Santa Fe?"

"Not exactly. Itey's in the ground now."

"Why?" Specs, I'm really struggling here. I don't want to talk about it, but I know you need to know this. Stop asking so many goddamn questions! "He's dead. That means his brain is in a beautiful dream, and it won't wake up. So his body stays there too."

"You face-water? Sad?"

"Yeah, bud, I'm sad. This is a specific type of sad, it's called grief."

"Hmm? Grief? Dack, what grief?"

"It's the sad you feel when someone dies."

"Ok. Was I grief when my mom died?"

"You grieved, yes."

"Ok. Go play now."


	14. Carryin' the Banner (bringing through canon)

Specs grew up and his speech matured, he's 7 now, Finch is 9 and you have to make sure you're on his right hand side, else he won't hear ya. Meatball pops in about once a month to come and say hello. Tony started selling over at Sheepshead, and he's called Race now. Elmer is still terrible at selling headlines, so he goes out with Finch, and they play the brothers trick on suckers. We got a few more newsies now: Mike and Ike, a pair of 10-year old twins; a flirty little chappie we call Romeo (he's about 12, we think); and a 13 year old redhead called Albert, plus the ones that got a mudder and/or a farder, like Les and Davey. They's got both! There's Jojo too, he was raised by the nuns, and now he works as a newsie.

*

"Papes for the newsies."

"Relax, it's gotta be a gag."

"Line up, boys." I slap my money down, as I normally do.

"Good joke, Weasel. Really got the fellas goin'. I'll take a hundred and be on my way."

"A hundred'll cost ya sixty."

"I ain't payin' no sixty." So we went on strike, and we didn't lose. I learned that nobody ever wins in a strike, only someone doesn't lose. It's a deal we all have to live with. After the strike, I put Race in charge of my Manhattan newsies, and told him to pick a second wisely. He chose Jojo, which surprised me 'cause Jojo never said much. I got meself a job inside the paper, illustrating, doing political cartoons. Meatball's still at the docks, and we go to the same church we always have done. Specs comes when he can, with Race, or Jojo. It's the only day off we get, and somehow, that feels harder than when we was newsies, working sunup to sundown, seven days a week. That dream of Santa Fe feels further away - splittin' rails, plantin' crops, 'cept for Sunday when you lie around all day...hahaha. Sunday morning's for Church, Sunday afternoon is for promenading in the park with Katherine, my fiancée. We's gonna get married once I'm 21.


	15. Post-canon officially

"TEN!" A group of ragtag people from seemingly all classes of the city have gathered in Newsie Square to see in this new millennium. "NINE!" we yell, watching the hands on the clock face tick slowly closer to the all-important midnight. 1900 will be the brand new century that Kath sang about when she first helped us win the strike. Our strike. "EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR, NEWSIES, CURRENT AND FORMER!" That's the one thing that we all have in common - we all work or worked as newsies at some point of our lives. Meatball's here, with his docker's muscles bulging under his shirt and slacks. My muscles are puny in comparison to his, but my job is cushier than his, so swings and roundabouts eh? Kath kissed me earlier, as the clock rung the first strokes of midnight. We're getting married in two years now!

"Ace, it's only two years till our wedding!"

"I know, Cowboy! Isn't it exciting?"

"Yes! Yes it is!"

"Hey, Jack! I'm going to take the littles back at 1. You want to speak to any a'them?"

"Finch, Specs. Theys the only littles I really remember." and Itey, may his soul rest in peace. "They might not get back at 1. I'm going to take them on a trip. They'll be back before work, promise. That okay, Race?"

"Sure. SPECS! GET FINCH OVER HERE!"

"That is **not** how I expected you to get them, Racetrack Higgins. I see you haven't changed much."

"Well, it's only been a year, what didja expect?"

"JACK! HI HOW ARE YOU? I'm good, thanks." Specs barrels into me, hugging me so tight I think my legs might burst like sausages out of their skins. "Doing really well, Specs. Glad you're doing good. Finch, how about you?" Finch slowly turns around to be on my left.

"I can hear you better now. Repeat please."

"How are you? It's been a while."

"Only a year. You forgot about my ear!" Finch complains.

"I know, buddy. I know. I need to come down to Newsie Square more often."

"YAY JACK'S GONNA VISIT THE SQUARE MORE!" Specs squeals delightedly. He may be seven, going on eight (we still think, and that's what he believes, but we were never sure of his age) but he still has the infinite zest for life that so few of the older newsies still possess. Perhaps that's because the younger newsies have never been in the Refuge. The candle in their eyes continues to burn (Kath wrote that phrase, she's helping me to write memoirs - 'parently, theys fancy books about a person's life) while mine and Crutchie's and even Mike and Ike's have been extinguished by the Spider. Evil bastard. Mine went out a long time ago, after my first Refuge trip. I hate that I can count my scars and tell you which one is from which attempt at escape, which soaking, which accident involving Spot Conlon. "Hey, what's Spot up to these days?"

"He's still King, but he won't last long. He's sick, Jack." Race offers. "He needs a doctor, but no borough can afford a doctor, not in winter, when there are so many newsies needing new coats, shoes, food, a roof, you know what it's like."

"Yes, and I refuse to let Spot pass on without having tried everything. I'll go across to Brooklyn. Davey, will you come for auld lang syne?"

"Sure. Les, c'mon." Davey hefts a sleepy Les over his shoulder, a stark contrast from our striking Davey. He's a lawyer's clerk these days, full of confidence and knowledge and long words, like 'aptitude'. We cross the Brooklyn Bridge in silence, but as we enter true Brooklyn, our breath hitches, a reminder of the fact that this ~~is~~ was dangerous territory to be in, especially at night. "Jack, what if?"

"I don't know, Dave."

"Nor do I. I'm scared."

"So am I, but if we don't knock on the door, nothing'll happen." I lift a shaking hand to the door of the Lodge At Brooklyn and rap three times hard. A newsie I don't recognise - more and more of them, these days - opens the door, wiping sleep away from his eyes. "Who are you?"

"Jack Kelly and Davey Jacobs. Littl'un's Les, his kid brother."

"Third door on the left, Spot said to letcha in."

"Thanks." When we get to Spot's room, the door is ajar, and a newsie I vaguely recognise - some kind of nature related name, Stone, Rock? - is sat mopping Spot's forehead with rags, dipping them into a basin of cold water. "He's been in and out of waking and sleepin'. Try and get him to drink if you can. He were fine this morning, God knows what he's got."

"Thanks, kid."

"Pebble. I ain't a kid no more. I'm thirteen. Teenagers ain't kids."

"Thanks Pebble." He leaves, his footsteps fading away like Spot's life force seems to be. Spot is flushed, a sheen of sweat coating his face. "Hey Spot, it's Cowboy. I know you don't feel good at the moment."

"Too right I don't." Spot throws up into the water pitcher. "Sorry. Can't keep anythin' in."

"Davey, get a doctor. I can pay." I can pay. Those three words mean so much. Not having to get healthcare on tick means illness isn't necessarily get-over-it-or-die. Davey's already gone by the time I look up. The wait for Davey to get back seems interminable. Spot throws up several more times. "PEBBLE! CAN YOU GET A NEW PITCHER?"

"Ya don't gotta shout, I's only down the hallway. I'll rinse this out, it's t'best I can do. Is your pal comin' back?"

"Yeah, with a doctor."

"Youse a toff. Jack Kelly, a toff. Who woulda thought it?"

"I ain't a toff, Pebble, I just got lucky."

"Whatever. Spot, try and sleep. It'll help you feel better." Brooklyn are pretending that Spot's better than he seems. I agree with Race's euphemistic assessment of the situation. Spot won't make it to the end of the week if the doctor can't do something. Half an hour after Davey leaves, I hear footsteps in the hallway. Thank the Lord. "Mr Conlon, if you would be so kind as to wake up."

"I wasn't 'sleep!"

"Tell me where it hurts."

"Here." Spot points at a place on his lower right hand side.

"Appendicitis. Close to bursting. I need to operate. Now." The doctor sets out several instruments of (what seems like) torture. Poor Spot. "More pain. Yay. Better than death though." Shit, I was going to take Specs and Finch to Itey's grave - his family scraped what they could and he has a simple wooden cross. For now, "Jack, pin him down, so he doesn't flail." I sit across Spot's bed, holding his shoulders down. Davey is doing the same with Spot's legs. Several minutes of screaming later, Spot is apparently "all done. Bed rest must continue for a week, then I shall check up on you."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: implied/referenced period typical homophobia  
> I, the author, believe that all people regardless of sexual orientation, are people and deserve respect. The hints that Jack drops are meant to be a reflection of period typical attitudes, as I believe it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge that Spot and Race would have a much harder time than Jack and Katherine would, despite both relationships being 'different' from the historically accepted norm.

"Hey Spot, how you feelin'?"

"Better, good to be outta bed. Though the chair ain't much better."

"That's good, I went to see Itey yesterday."

"May his soul rest in Heaven. You still talk to him then? Jack, it's been five, six years."

"And it hurts every day. I have to honor his memory!"

"You do honor his memory. Every time you think of him. This conversation isn't exactly what the doctor - thank you, by the way - would call 'peaceful', is it?"

"Yes, Spot, we can change topics. I bought today's pape for you, with a cartoon by yours truly. Thought you might like to see it. It's not one of my better ones, but..."

"Jack, if this is _not_ one of your better ones, I'd love to see one of your better ones. This is amazing!"

"Aww, Spot, thank you. Also, Race has been really worried about you. I said I'd watch my, no, **his** boys tonight, so he can come and visit."

"He don't need to. I'm fine." I say nothing, merely point at Spot's bandaged torso. "Alright, so there's a little scratch there. I'm still fine!"

"Spot, I don't care if you are, y'know, that way. Race needs to see you, he worried himself sick while we was over here, getting ya fixed up."

"Tell him I'm fine, and thank him for the visit."

"He can come over then? Your boys won't beat him up?"

"Nah, they won't. Pebble's on watch tonight."


	17. Sprace (wholesome hopefully)

"Hey Pebble, Spot up still?"

"Yeah, go on and see him. I know it musta been hard to come and see your brother, working hours being what they are."

"Yeah, and the selling weren't so good t'day, bad headline and crowd."

"I get it, I really do. Third room-"

"I know, lemme in, it's cold out here!"

"A'ight."

*

"Race! You came! Ta, Pebble, you c'n get back ta youse post now."

"See you later, Spot. Race." As Pebble's footsteps die away, Race and I start to let go of our layers of lies, secrecy, safety, and cast ourselves into the dangerous, exhilarating experience of being in love with each other. "Does he know?"

"No, but he wouldn't care, he's like us. Anyone your side of the bridge know?"

"Jack, I think, suspects something, he were hintin' bout it, but he said he didn't mind."

"Good, now kiss me, 'Track." We share a kiss, arms tangled round each other's body, Race's lean and lanky, wrapped round my short and stocky body. He's taking care not to touch my sore side. He's always thoughtful like that, my Racetrack. "Ain't what the doc'd call peaceful, eh?" Race snorts.

"Since when did you care for authority apart from your own, Spot?"

"Never, but I mind the laws...most of the time. Y'know which ones."

"Yeah, shh, I wanna sleep here."

"Duh, you ain't going overbridge tonight! It's dark already, and supposed to be icy, according to the clear sky."

"According to Crutchie, it's meant to be partly cloudy, clear by mornin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot and Race are not brothers, I am not writing incest. It is a lie they tell to cover up their relationship, since y'know, _1899 _.__


	18. Pebble

"Good to be out selling, Spot?"

"Too cold for my liking, but yeah, good to get out again."

"I'll speak to Buttons, see if she can sort somethin' out."

" _He_. You'll speak to Buttons, see if _he_ can sort somethin' out. I don't understand him but respect has always been my motto. A'ight?"

"Sorry."

"You'll get it eventually. He's stitching up Jack's shirt again."

"What did Jack do this time?"

"Snagged it on a branch, because, I kid you not, 'cats are important, and it was howling and it was just so cute'. He called it Alistair."

"And his landlord let him keep it? BLAZING INFERNO TAKES THREE LIVES! PENNY FOR THE PAPE!"

"Yeah, good headline there. Embellished?"

"Duh. Three people escaped with plenty of time. Anyhow, what you using today?"

"Pity spiel, I nearly died. You want to use the brothers spiel together?"

"Sure. You being younger brother."

"As always, Pebble. Excuse me, ma'am, buy a pape to keep a pair of poor orphans alive?" Spot coughed pitifully.

"God go with you. I'll take a paper." As soon as the woman is out of sight, we highfive.

"Brilliant, Spot! Always gets the suckers."

"It's a wonder they don't think we's faking, how often half'a New York's sick. CHILD NEARLY DIES IN BLAZING INFERNO! YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST! Thanking you kindly sir."

*

"Profitable day, you two?"

"Yup, you?"

"Not so good, but decent, ta. Spot, your brother's injured himself. Race sent a kid over to say he was injured, so it ain't anythin' too bad, not at the minute, but..."

"I'll go see him, ta Buttons."


	19. Chapter 19

"RACETRACK! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL!' YOU FUCKING BROKE A BONE!"

"It's not a big deal, I got Finch to patch me up, and I'll be fine. Even if I ain't, it's pity points."

"Hrrmph! How bad is it, Finch?"

"I can only feel one break, and that feels like the bones are still in place."

"Okay. Thanks for looking after my bo-ther. My bother of a brother."

"He's alright really. You don't have to live with him!"

"There's a reason behind that, I ain't telling the story."

*6 weeks later*

"How's the wrist?"

"A little sore, a little stiff, but Finch can't feel any break."

"That's good." We spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling, I'm lucky to be over here and not having to sell sunup to sundown. See, there _actually_ was a big story. We might have celebrated a little, because our own Meatball rescued some guy down the docks. In a year or so, that'll be me. Meatball's trying to teach me how to do it, so then I get good at it real quick. He and his girl are getting married in a month.

*1 month*

"Congratulations, Mrs Meatball."

"It's Mrs Wright, actually. Meatball's my first name, you cheeky littl'un! Elizabeth, this is my cheekiest charge, Finch. Please make sure to be on his left hand side."

"One of your newsies?"

"Used ta be, he must be 10 now, at least."

"I's ELEVEN! My birthday was yesterday!"

"Happy birthday dude."

"Thank you. Here's a paper for free."


	20. Crutchie

Hello. It's been a while since I talked to you. I'm doing ok. I got a job, making clocks and watches for rich folk. I get by, and Katherine lets me live in a couple of rooms in the Pulitzer Mansion. Technically I live with several other ex-newsies, and I run my little business, Foster Clocks, from the front room. In a couple years, I might even be able to 'prentice one of the lads. Sixteen year old twins Mike and Ike have begun working at the printing press for the New York Journal. They share identical rooms here. Kath didn't really want to stay here after what Pulitzer tried to do, so it's unconsciously become a haven for various street rats, including the shoeshiners, newsboys (of course), fruit vendors and other assorted people. Kath does visit, almost every week, with Jack. I'm working on a very special project in my backroom, for their wedding in a year or so. Meatball tries to visit, but his work schedule is very busy right now. Finch has taken over sewing classes at the Lodge, and he says he wants to become a tailor, but as he's only just eleven, Race isn't paying much attention to him. I'm talking to my friend Mulligan about getting him 'prenticed. See, my mother taught me 'get your feet under another man's table', which if I'd listened, probably would have been good advice. I always was a bit of a naughty kid, but I'm teaching the lads that advice in the hope that at least one will listen. I talk to Race now and then, but he mostly talks and I listen. He _should_ talk to his new Second, but he got so used to coming to me. I slit open my letters, nothing interesting so far. Until I spot the spiky handwriting that I know belongs to one of the local scribes.

_Dear Charlie (or is that too informal for our purposes?),_

_I am writing to let you know that I will be in town next Monday (today is the 25th June, I don't mean tomorrow)_

_and_ _would like to meet your friend to consider him for an apprenticeship as I am lucky enough_ _to have one space_

_available. Please ensure your friend is ready promptly at 9am on the above date. I hope this letter found you as well_

_as you usually are, and before I send this letter, I wish to add that my family will soon be expanding, since my wife_

_Lexie, is expecting our first child._

_Your oldest friend (I think),_

_Hercules Mulligan._

I forgot to say, the Tucks aren't the only immortal family. The Mulligans are immortal too. Hercules Mulligan is the one you've heard about, that fought in the American War Of Independence. He's technically 160, but he really doesn't look it. I was only immortal for a few years, and I kind of miss it. I wrote to Ma a few months ago, and she did write back.

_Dear Jesse,_

_I'm so glad you're alive! The spring here still seems to have the normal abilities, and we're all still living here. Miles has gone on a journey, and he said he might try to pop into your corner of the world. You said in your last letter that you had been ill. I hope you didn't suffer too much, and that you found yourself a respectable trade._

_Much love,_

_Mother (Mae)_

How out of touch I let myself get. I've been here almost a decade, and yet, I don't feel the urge to move before anyone finds out my secret. Perhaps that's because I don't really have a secret anymore, apart from those few friends who know about my (former) immortality.


End file.
